


Nextdoor Neighbors

by ceterisparibus



Series: Prompts! [11]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack, Friendship, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, How Do I Tag This, Humor, I swear my crack fic is actually crack this time, debates, whatever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: What kind of shenanigans are overheard by the unsuspecting employee at the financial office nextdoor to Nelson, Murdock, and Page?(Inspired by a tumblr post. This counts as a prompt, right? Even if no one gave it to me and I simply took it upon myself to write it?)
Series: Prompts! [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1334596
Comments: 31
Kudos: 100





	1. Is Cereal Soup?

**Author's Note:**

> Until further notice, I will be writing this exclusively during my secured transactions class.

Working at a financial office was never really what I dreamed of as a kid, but the pay is good and the job is secure and my coworkers, well, could be worse. The air conditioning isn’t great, but the place is only five minutes away from home. So that’s nice.

Unfortunately, the business also shares (very thin) walls with the law office and PI firm next door.

Nelson and Murdock (that’s the law part) and Page (the PI). After only two months on the job, I could identify Nelson, Murdock, and Page by their voices alone. And by Nelson’s off-tune singing when he apparently thinks no one was around. To be honest, it’s not great for focusing.

But today, I don’t need to focus. It’s nine-fifteen in the morning and I am monotonously transferring data from several sheets of paper to an excel spreadsheet and wondering if it would be unprofessional to listen to a podcast or something while I’m at it when Nelson’s disembodied voice pipes up from the next building.

“Can cereal legally be considered soup?” he wants to know.

I really don’t know how they get any work done, since they’re _always_ asking questions like that. Usually it turns into an argument. A loud one.

“Of course not,” Murdock answers immediately, voice a bit scratchy. He isn’t much of a morning person, I’ve quickly figured out. He regularly comes in half an hour later than his coworkers, and always goes straight for the coffee machine, and generally spends the first ten minutes of the beginning of his workday refusing to speak.

“Prove that it isn’t,” Nelson shoots back.

Murdock refuses. “ _You_ raised the point, _you_ bear the burden of proof.”

“I didn’t _raise the point_ ,” Nelson corrects. “I _asked a question_.”

This leads to a disgruntled sigh, and an amused giggle from Page’s corner of the office, though she apparently isn’t ready to join the debate herself just yet. I get the sense that she works marginally more than the two lawyers on an average day.

“Prove that it isn’t,” Nelson insists.

Murdock sighs. The sound of furious typing fills the air, and I wonder for a second if Murdock is trying to get back to work. Unusual for him to pass on an argument, and I’m not sure Nelson will let him get away with avoiding it anyway.

But I’m wrong. Murdock’s not working; he’s _researching_ , because a second later he reports: “The definition of soup states that soup usually has a kind of meat or vegetable stock as a base.” He sounds satisfied, confident that he’s won. “Milk is neither of those things. Moreover, soup typically involves boiling its components.”

He’s an idiot if he thinks Nelson will leave it at that. Even _I_ know Nelson won’t leave it at that.

“Milk comes from cows,” Nelson points out promptly, “and cows can provide the beef or steak that makes up the stock. So—”

“Milk isn’t _stock_ , Foggy.”

“And what about almond milk?” Page suggests suddenly. “Cereal can be made with almond milk.”

“Almond milk doesn’t count,” Nelson announces.

“Excuse me?” Page sounds outraged.

“Just because opposing counsel doesn’t _like_ the evidence presented does not mean the evidence should be excluded,” Murdock says loftily.

“Fine!” Nelson bursts out. “So cereal made from almond milk is cereal, but cereal made with cow’s milk is soup.”

Murdock tries to sound disapproving, but he’s laughing, so he only half-succeeds. “I hope you notice the absurdity of the conclusion your logic brought us to, Foggy. Besides, you forgot to address the boiling issue. Nothing in cereal is boiled.”

Nelson harumphs. “Like this is any more absurd than the English language as a whole.”

I notice that he’s completely ignored the boiling argument.

Page doesn’t call him on it, though; she just echoes Murdock with her own sigh. “Give it a rest with the English language. It’s doing its best.”

But no, it’s far too late; Nelson has already launched into his spiel on prepositions. It’s far from the first time, and in another month, I’ll probably have it memorized. He raises some good points, too, I have to give him that. His prepositions-are-proof-that-English-is-inferior spiel is much better than his cereal-is-soup argument.

I settle back in my terrible office chair, idly transferring another row of numbers to my spreadsheet, and decide that I wouldn’t want to share a wall with anyone else.


	2. What Color Is The Dress?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii guys, I promise this fic isn't dead, it's just...so random and I apparently I forget things when there's not an overarching plot. But your ideas in the comments have been noted for future chapters. ;)

I’m still working with spreadsheets. This time it’s a stupid pdf that refuses to be transferred into text, so I can’t copy and paste the lines of deposits and withdrawals. So I’m manually transferring numbers yet again, bored out of my mind.

Fortunately, Nelson next door is apparently just as bored. “Hey, Karen?” he calls, voice carrying clearly through the wall. He might as well be sitting next to me.

“Yeah?” Page asks, unsuspecting.

“Will you come look at this for me?”

“Sure.” I hear a chair pushed back, then heels click-clacking over the floor. “What is it?”

“What color is this?” Nelson asks, voice intense, like this is a matter of national security or something. Or at least crucial to their case.

A pause.

A very long pause.

“That’s a dress,” Page says finally.

“I didn’t ask you here to help me identify the category of clothing, Karen,” Nelson says primly. “I asked you to help me identify a color.”

Another pause.

“Why, though,” Page says.

Nelson huffs. “Because Matt can’t help, or I would’ve asked him. He has a much more helpful personality.”

To that, Page just laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

When she finally recovers, it’s to say, very simply: “No.”

“No, you won’t help?” Nelson inquires. “Because it’s kinda unfair of you to laugh at me calling Matt more helpful when you, y’know, _refuse to help_.”

“Foggy, this issue was resolved in _twenty-fifteen_. Why are you still on this?”

“Because we were a little distracted taking down Wilson Fisk to do important get-to-know you questions like this one! An inevitable but tragic outcome I am now remedying!”

Wait, Fisk? I admit, I don’t follow the news that much. Personal life is chaotic enough, you know? I remember Fisk being put away, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell you how these three are connected. I’ll have to google it.

Page sighs. “Fine. It’s white and gold.”

Cue a loud gasp. “What? _No._ ”

“I assume you see it as blue and black?”

Oh. So _that’s_ what they’re talking about.

“It is _in fact_ blue and black, Karen!” Nelson insists. “As in, the dress that was designed is blue and black! Its true self is blue and black!”

“You asked how I saw it,” Page points out reasonably.

I hear Murdock’s raised voice from the other side of the office. “That’s true, Fogs. You asked for her subjective opinion.”

“We live in a subjective world!” Nelson shouts back at him.

Now Murdock’s voice is laced with amusement. “Oh, so if I say it’s black, then it must in fact be black?”

“No! I’m not asking you because you, for reasons utterly beyond your control, are unable to see an objective truth in this specific instance.”

Murdock. Right. Blind. Glasses and cane and charming smiles. He comes off a little skittish, although I’m sure he thinks he doesn’t.

“I did not sign up for anything this existential this morning,” Page mutters, apparently to herself.

“So you’re mad at me for only seeing black?” Murdock inquires.

“No,” Nelson protests indignantly. “I just said it’s not your—”

“So why are you mad at Karen for seeing white and gold?”

“Because she _knows_ better! She knows the dress is in fact blue and black!”

“Not unlike your face, Matt,” Page pipes up.

Wait, what? I’m confused, but no one bothers to explain. Must be an obvious inside joke to them.

“So you’re saying,” Murdock begins, voice sharp with a competitive edge, “that if you told me the walls in here are white and then asked me what color I thought they were—”

“White would be a terrible color for the walls here,” Nelson mutters. “We’d never keep them clean.”

“Do we keep them clean anyway?” Page wonders aloud.

Murdock keeps going: “—I should say white because that’s what’s objectively true, even though that’s not what I subjectively perceive?”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Nelson demands.

“Because that’s not my personal experience, and you’re _asking_ about my personal experience!”

“This from a Catholic!” Nelson bursts out. “Aren’t you guys all about objective truth?”

“We’re talking about a dress, not the moral nature of humanity!” Murdock shoots back.

“So there’s an arbitrary distinction between when objective truth does or does not matter?”

“It. Is. A. _Dress_.”

Nelson seems to gather himself. “Look, guys. Yes, I’ll admit, I asked Karen what she thought the dress was based on idle curiosity, a decision I now regret. Yes, I recognize that she can’t control what she sees anymore than Matt can control what he, you know, _can’t_ see. However. Can we not now discuss the extent to which our knowledge of objective truth does or doesn’t but maybe _should_ influence our subjective perception of life?”

I blink, and have to take a second to work backwards through that to figure out what exactly he’s even saying before I can even decide if I agree with his point.

Page’s voice is utterly indifferent. “I still see the dress as white and gold, Foggy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So our three got a bit philosophical on me.

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know what other weird stuff you want these three to debate!
> 
> If I lose subscribers over this, I can't even blame you.


End file.
